Friends till the End Read online

  Bernard nervously linked several paper clips together to form a chain. “Your sister is worried about you.”

  “That’s nothing new. Maya is always worried about me.”

  “She’s afraid you’re going to be the next victim.”

  “Me? That’s absurd. Nobody’s after me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know these things, Bernard. It’s like the crossword puzzle. Whatever’s going on with Isabel’s group of friends has nothing to do with me.”

  Bernard was interested in this. “You just know?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What else do you know?”

  Snooky shifted in his chair. “I notice things,” he said slowly. “The way people look at other people. What they say. People tell me things, I don’t know why. It’s always been like that. Maya says it’s because I’m basically inoffensive.”

  “Quite a compliment.”

  “Oh, Maya adores me. You know that.”

  “Snooky, you were at that party last week. What did you notice? What did people say to each other, how did they act?”

  “Oh, Bernard. Come on. You wouldn’t possibly be interested.”

  Bernard gave him a cold fishy glare.

  “Try me,” he said.

  “Mom,” said Little Harry, depositing his bulk on the kitchen chair, which creaked ominously.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  The perpetual cry of the Crandall children.

  “Have a carrot.”

  “I don’t want a carrot.”

  “Have some celery.”

  “I don’t want any celery.”

  This interchange took place without heat on either side. It was a custom; a ritual.

  Heather had a brainstorm.

  “Have a raw yam.”

  Little Harry was intrigued. He took the well-scrubbed yam and gazed upon it. “Raw yam?”

  “Good for you,” said his mother. “Lots of potassium.”

  “Yeah? Okay.”

  Munching on the yam, he left the room.

  A few minutes later his father walked in. He had just come from lecturing to a class at the university.

  “Hello, Harry.” Heather gave him a fond kiss.

  “Hello.” He put his briefcase on the table.

  “How was your class?”

  “Morons,” said Harry cheerfully. “Morons, all of them. In my day, graduate students had to have a modicum of intelligence in order to get into a program. Now it seems that’s no longer required. They’re drones, Heather; mindless drones.”

  “Really? What a shame.” Heather had heard this before. She briefly recalled, from her graduate student days, the general student opinion concerning Professor Crandall. “Pompous ass” and “platitudinous old fool” were two of the kinder comments. She smiled to herself. The comments had stopped abruptly when she had announced her engagement. Humming, she put aside a dish of marinated tofu and began to mince garlic, one of her least favorite tasks.

  “Note-taking machines,” her husband was saying with relish. “That’s all they are, note-taking machines. In my day, students were encouraged to think. That’s what education was all about! Not all these notes and memorization. The only questions I get are about the final exam next week. How long will the test be? Will it be essay or multiple choice? Basically they’re asking whether they’ll have to think or not. Sometimes I feel like strangling them, the whole lot of them. The academic world would be better off, I’m convinced of it.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Dinner was prepared, served and eaten. Little Harry, full to the point of explosion, staggered into the living room. Heather poured out the tea for herself and her husband.

  “Harry, I wanted to tell you something that Ruth mentioned to me.”

  She told him all about the conversation she had had with Ruth; all about Sam’s problems with the business. Her husband listened attentively.

  “Sounds like Walter,” he said when she was done. “He’d stick a knife into the back of his best friend. What’s Sam doing about it?”

  “What can he do?”

  “Nothing much, I suppose. Walter holds the reins. Still, they’ve practically been partners in that business for so many years …”

  “I know. I don’t know how Walter can live with himself. The man has no conscience at all.”

  “None.”

  “By the way, you absolutely can’t tell anybody else, all right, Harry? I swore to Ruth that I wouldn’t tell.”

  “All right. Probably everyone knows, anyway. News like that gets around.”

  “There’s something else.” Heather paused uncertainly. “I think it’s too bad that nobody’s gotten together since—well, since the party. It’s as if everyone is afraid. So I had an idea.”

  She wanted to have a little get-together—“nothing elaborate, just our friends”—the following weekend. “It’s about time that we got together again. It’s ridiculous not to, don’t you think?”

  Her husband was amenable. Little Harry, when he heard about it, was delighted.

  “Carob mocha brownies!” he said from where he lay on the couch.

  “Yes,” said Heather. “And corn chips—homemade—and veggies with dip, and cider. And apple walnut crumble.”

  “Hurray!” cried Little Harry.

  The next day Heather called all her friends to invite them to her party.

  “Ruth, you and Sam must come. This Sunday at one o’clock. Please.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. Naturally we’ll be there. Can I bring anything?”

  “No, no. It’s just going to be a light lunch. Nothing fancy.”

  “Yes,” said Ruth. “You know, Heather, since our talk, I really feel that things are going to be better. I told Sam about it. I feel—I don’t know. I feel more optimistic.”

  “Good. Good. See you Sunday?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Freda sounded drunk when Heather called. Heather looked at her watch. It was three in the afternoon.

  “Sunday?” Freda said, in that too-hearty tone she assumed when drunk. “One o’clock? What’s the point, Heather?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s the point? Why have this party?”

  “I just thought that it would be nice if everybody got together again.”

  “Sounds dangerous to me.”

  “What?”

  “This particular combination of people proved fatal the last time,” Freda said dryly.

  “Oh, Freda.”

  “All right, all right, I’ll be there. Eddie won’t, though.”

  “No?”

  “I haven’t seen him since the police went round and talked to him,” Freda said. She sounded almost amused. “Do you think it’s something in his past?”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. Not at all. See you Sunday.”

  If Freda had seemed reluctant. Walter Sloane was downright insulting.

  “Don’t be such an ass, Heather,” he said over the phone. “No. I’m not coming.”

  “But Walter, the whole point is that—”

  “I don’t care. Listen to me, Heather. One of my so called friends tried to kill me. If you think there’s any way I’m ever going to be in the same room with any of them again, you’re wrong. That includes you and Harry. I don’t know who did it, or why, but I’m no fool. Frankly, this invitation makes you two seem like the prime suspects.”

  He banged the phone down.

  “Charming as always,” said Heather out loud. She waited, then redialed the number.

  “Walter?”

  “What is it now?”

  “Linus has something he wants to say to you.” She handed the phone to the five-year-old and whispered in his ear.

  “Uncle Wally?” said Linus. “Why aren’t you coming to Mommy’s party?”

  Heather could not hear the reply.

  “I wish you’d come,” said the little boy. “Why won’t yo
u come see us?”

  He listened for a minute.

  “Okay. Okay, I’ll tell Mommy. What? Okay. Bye, Uncle Wally.”

  Heather took the phone.

  “Heather,” rasped Walter’s furious voice, “that was low. That was really low.”

  “Walter, it’s important to me that you come to this party. It’s for you, really. You and Isabel and Richard. We’re not just your friends, you know. We’re family. It’s important that everyone not be afraid to get together again. Can’t you see that?”

  “I hope you’re satisfied,” he snarled. “I’ll be there. One o’clock sharp. But I’m not eating anything.”

  He slammed down the phone and Heather sat back with a satisfied smile. She looked at her youngest child.

  “Uncle Wally is angry,” said Linus. “He’s always angry, isn’t he, Mommy?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Linus toddled off and she sat musing on human relationships. Here was Walter Sloane, the feared, the terrible; and he was mere putty in the hands of a five-year-old boy. It had been that way since Linus was born. He and Walter had taken to each other immediately. Linus called him Uncle Wally and sat on his knee and talked to him with the unselfconscious chatter of a child; and his doting Uncle Wally brought him presents and toys and got down on his hands and knees to play with him. No one could understand it. Walter had never been particularly close to his own children. Yet with Linus it was different. Linus expected him to be his friendly Uncle Wally, and to everyone’s surprise, for the duration of each visit he was.

  “That was low,” Walter had told her; “really low.” Well, perhaps it was. But she did want him to be at her party. Smiling, she took out a note pad and began to make a list of things she would need.

  “There’s a letter here for you,” Maya told Snooky.

  “For me?”

  “Yes. It’s from William.”

  “Oh, hell.” Snooky picked it up gingerly. “Not another letter. How does he know I’m here? Who told him?”

  “I did.”

  “Traitor Foul traitor.”

  “He called the other day and asked me whether I knew where you were. I told him you were in my living room.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He made a kind of strangled sound and said he was sorry to hear that.”

  Snooky opened the letter and read it with increasing despondency. Maya sipped her coffee and watched him.

  “What does it say?”

  “The usual. When will I get a job? How long do I think my share of our parents’ estate will last? And so on. He says at the end that he and Emily and the kids are going to the Rocky Mountains for a vacation. Gee, I hope they have a nice time, don’t you?”

  “Poor William. He hasn’t given up on you yet.”

  “You have, though, haven’t you, Maya?”

  “Oh, I never had any hopes for you to start with, Snooky.”

  “There’s the telephone. Do you want to get it, or should I?”

  “You get it. It’ll be the only thing you’ve done for us the whole time you’ve been here.”

  “Hi, Isabel,” Snooky said into the phone. “How are you? Yeah? Yeah? Yeah? Really? Yeah? Yeah? Okay. Yes. See you then. Really? Okay. I’ll ask them. Talk to you later. Yeah. Bye.”

  “One of the more stimulating conversations it’s ever been my pleasure to overhear,” said his sister, unfolding the newspaper and squinting at the crossword puzzle. “Snook, what’s a four-letter word that means ‘antelope, African variety’?”

  “ ‘Kudu.’ That was Isabel. She wants to invite us to a party some friend of her father’s is giving. All of us. That means you and Bernard, too.”

  “Oh, no.” Maya glanced up. “Not Bernard. Bernard can’t go to that party. Didn’t you tell her?”

  “I thought I’d ask him first.”

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You know Bernard never goes to any parties if he can avoid it. There’s absolutely zero chance of your talking him into a party given by some friend of Isabel’s father. Bernard never goes outside the house unless someone’s paying him.”

  “Agoraphobia is a terrible disease.”

  “He’s not agoraphobic. Not at all. He’s a writer, Snooky. He hates people. Especially children. My God, how he hates children.”

  “But he writes for children.”

  “Yes. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “No way in hell,” Bernard said later, when the idea was presented to him.

  Snooky quirked an eyebrow at him. “You and my sister have been married too long. That’s exactly what she said you’d say.”

  “Some party given by a friend of Isabel’s father? You must be out of your mind,” Bernard said irritably. “Go away. Leave me alone.”

  “Honestly, Bernard. You’re so weird. You’re—what’s the word?—anthropophobic?”

  Bernard regarded him doubtfully. “I thought that meant cannibals.”

  “ ‘Anthropophagi,’ ” supplied Snooky automatically. “Man-eater. Are you sure you won’t come?”

  “Go away and leave me alone.”

  “But I thought you were so interested in all these people.”

  Bernard put down his pencil and regarded Snooky thoughtfully. “I am.”

  “Then why don’t you come meet them all? This is the perfect opportunity.”

  “I don’t want to meet them,” snarled Bernard. “You’ve met them. That’s enough.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “Go away, Snooky.”

  Maya came upon Snooky in the living room a short while later. He was collapsed in a chair, his long legs stretching out toward the empty fireplace.

  “What is it, Snooks?”

  “Oh, I was just thinking. I was trying to decide what it is I like best about Bernard. Is it his congeniality, or his tactfulness?”

  “Bernard is a special kind of person. He’s the kind of person who hates everyone else on the planet. You have to understand that.”

  “Well, I’m going to the party anyway.”

  “That’s fine. You can tell us all about it. Bernard and I will sit near the door with bated breath waiting for you to get home.”

  “I don’t understand, Maya. Don’t you like to go out once in a while?”

  She ruffled his hair fondly. “We do go out, just the two of us, quite a lot. And Bernard may not be the most sociable person I’ve ever met, but being married to him has other advantages.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as I love him. Now shut up and stop brooding. I’d like some help with dinner, if you’re not too busy.”

  Heather Crandall looked around her living room with a satisfied air. The party was going beautifully. It was almost as good as one of Laura’s—not quite, but almost. People weren’t sparkling the way they did at Laura’s, but then, this was a difficult occasion. The guests were, naturally, a little subdued. Ruth and Sam were listening to Harry quite peacefully, not bothering to object or interrupt. Freda and Walter were standing together in the corner, conversing amiably, which must be a first, thought Heather. Isabel and Richard and Isabel’s new friend, what’s-his-name, were standing by the buffet table picking at the food. Heather glanced at the food and felt she had surpassed herself. It was all natural, all good, and very delicious. Little Harry had passed his judgment on it earlier, before the guests arrived.

  “Great,” he had declared, wolfing down the portion of food she had set aside for the kids’ lunch. “Great, Mom, just fabulous. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  Of course she never served alcohol. She didn’t approve of it, especially in the afternoon. Freda looked a little lost without a glass in her hand. Heather crossed to the buffet table and poured a hefty glass of the punch, which consisted of various natural unfiltered juices and pure sparkling seltzer. She put it in Freda’s hand.

  “Thanks, Heather,” Freda said. She looked absolutely terrible, as if she hadn’t slept for weeks. She was still dressed in solid black from head to toe.
/>   “Punch. It’s good for you. Try it.”

  Heather moved away, glancing back at Freda’s drawn and worried face and wondering whether she should talk to her about the restorative powers of vitamins B and C, particularly the whole B-complex …

  Walter was drinking the punch like there was no tomorrow. Heather felt pleased. Of course he considered it safe, since it was in a large glass bowl and everybody was drinking from it. Still, he seemed to like it. His glass was empty, so she took it and refilled it from the punch bowl. She could hear him talking avidly to Freda. To Heather’s surprise, they were discussing Laura.

  “She always loved to travel,” Walter was saying sadly. “You know that picture we have over the fireplace? She brought it back from France the last time we went. She always swore it was a Watteau. It wasn’t, of course, but she got a great price on it. My God, that woman could bargain.”

  “I remember when we were in Hong Kong, years ago,” Freda replied. “Laura hit the stores there and they were never the same again. She could bargain them down to practically nothing. I remember once when she saw a ring she liked, an emerald, diamond and sapphire ring …”

  Heather went back to the buffet table and stood there anxiously checking the food. Was everything all right? People seemed to like the cheese and crackers, but her specialty, marinated tofu, was still untouched. She took a plate and scooped some up. Well, she would show them. Was there enough punch? If not, she could send Harry out to the store …

  Harry was having a good time. He was talking about somebody named Miltiades, an ancient Athenian statesman. Heather listened in amazed tolerance. Really, Harry was something else. Even after twenty years she was still learning things about him. Who would ever have thought that he would know anything about Athenian government?

  Harry left Sam and Ruth and went over to prey upon Walter and Freda, who were deep in their reminiscences and did not even notice him. He stood there uncertainly for a moment, then joined Heather at the table.

  “Good food,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Good party.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes. Stop worrying. Everything’s going great.”

  Sam and Ruth came over to talk to Walter and Freda. The men shook hands self-consciously. Ruth looked worried; but then, thought Heather, Ruth always looked worried. She was wearing a lacy pink dress whose hem was starting to unravel. Her eyes darted nervously over Walter’s face as he talked.